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And climbing up the hill-(it was at least
Nine roods of sheer ascent) Sir Walter found
Sir Walter wiped his face and cried, "Till now
I'll build a Pleasure-house upon this spot,
A cunning Artist will I have to frame
A bason for that Fountain in the dell;
And they, who do make mention of the same
From this day forth, shall call it HART-LEAP WELL.
And, gallant brute! to make thy praises known,
Three several Pillars, each a rough-hewn Stone,
And planted where thy hoofs the turf have grazed.
And, in the summer-time when days are long,
And with the Dancers, and the Minstrel's song,
Till the foundations of the mountains fail
Then home he went, and left the Hart, stone-dead, With breathless nostrils stretched above the spring. -Soon did the Knight perform what he had said, And far and wide the fame thereof did ring.
Ere thrice the moon into her port had steered,
And near the fountain, flowers of stature tall With trailing plants and trees were intertwined,
Which soon composed a little sylvan Hall,
A leafy shelter from the sun and wind.
And thither, when the summer-days were long, Sir Walter journey'd with his Paramour;
And with the Dancers and the Minstrel's song Made merriment within that pleasant Bower.
The Knight, Sir Walter, died in course of time,
THE moving accident is not my trade:
As I from Hawes to Richmond did repair,
What this imported I could ill divine:
The trees were gray, with neither arms nor head;
I looked upon the hill both far and near,
1 stood in various thoughts and fancies lost,
The Shepherd stopped, and that same story told
You see these lifeless Stumps of aspen woodSome say that they are beeches, others elmsThese were the Bower; and here a Mansion stood,
The finest palace of a hundred realms!
The Arbour does its own condition tell;
You see the Stones, the Fountain, and the Stream; But as to the great Lodge! you might as well
Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.